The False Virgin (19 page)

‘Grandpa, you must have been worried when I didn’t get back to the mansion yesterday.’ To my surprise she then scowled at me. ‘I thought you might have come searching for
me last night.’

I smiled broadly, and tried, albeit half-heartedly, to extract myself from her embrace.

‘You can let go of me now. And I am sorry I didn’t come last night. I didn’t get back until late myself, and assumed you were already abed. It was only this morning that I knew
otherwise.’

She finally pulled away, much to my regret. I was glad of her warmth, as I had feared deep down that I might have next seen her cold and dead. If this was what it was to have family and blood
relatives, it was not entirely pleasant. I shook the bad thoughts from my brain, and asked her what all the fuss was about.

‘I have not seen the black crows so agitated.’

‘Nor I. They are usually hidden away in their cells. Women are not something they like to feast their eyes on in such holy surroundings, I am told. But I can tell you why the monks are so
excited.’

Her eyes gleamed with a burning desire to tell me what she had discovered yesterday, and the reason why she had been unable to return last night. But she restrained her natural exuberance in the
desire to lay out her facts cogently.

‘I must tell you the story in sequence, so that you understand how it came about.’

She dragged me over to a stone bench that was in the shade created by the walls of the church. As she spoke, her tale was embellished by the hypnotic chanting of the monks inside.

‘When I arrived yesterday morning, I couldn’t get in to see Speranza because the door to her cell was locked. From the inside. Brother Hugh was already at the door trying to talk to
her, but she wasn’t answering.’

Katie explained to me that Hugh expressed a worry that something might have happened to Speranza. But on putting her ear to the door, Katie heard sounds from within. It was a low mumbling and
the rustle of a linen dress. She reckoned that Speranza was alive and talking to herself. Assuming she was in no immediate danger, she convinced Hugh to leave his benefactor alone for a while. She
brought him to the very bench we were now sitting on, and asked him why he thought Speranza had done this.

She looked at me. ‘He said that since her husband’s death, she had been distant and uncommunicative. He had been concerned for her sanity.’

I snorted. ‘More concerned that his meal ticket was slipping away from him.’

‘Perhaps. He did seem to be showing real concern, but I can’t fathom his true feelings. What Grandma told me about him left me with an impression he was a fraud and a charlatan. And
it’s true, he did seem more worried about the disappearance of the relic than for Speranza.’

‘The relic has gone?’

‘Yes.’

Apparently, Hugh had placed the saint’s finger on the altar, where Speranza liked to pray, that morning. And when he returned, both the domina and the relic were nowhere to be found. He at
first suspected the monks because they had expressed admiration of the relic when he had first shown it to them. And he didn’t think Speranza would have taken it, as she had always left it
for Hugh to collect after her prayers. But now that she had locked herself in her cell, he was beginning to suspect otherwise. Katie had asked him if it truly was the finger of St Beornwyn.

‘Oh, yes. Her hands were once brought to Carmarthen by clerics from Whitby. She had lived her mortal life nearby in Lythe. What we know of her comes from the very lips of her constant
companion, Mildryth. She was St Beornwyn’s maid in life, and cared for her. After her mistress’s death, Mildryth became the virgin saint’s guardian and protector. Many pilgrims
went to her to kiss her hand, for if you touch the hand of the person who touched the saint, then her blessings will flow to you. Mildryth herself told the story of her virgin mistress many times.
As for the relic, I wasn’t born when the saint’s hands were in Carmarthen, but I traced them to Broomhill Priory. It was there I learned that a Venetian merchant had obtained one of the
fingers. I have to admit to my shame that I coveted a relic of St Beornwyn, so I followed the trail to Venice . . .’

Katie then told me that Hugh failed to get any further because at that moment a piercing scream came from the direction of Speranza’s cell. He and Katie leaped up and ran across the
courtyard. Her door was now ajar, and Katie, arriving ahead of the monk, pulled it open.

Katie stopped her story for a moment and stared at me wide-eyed.

‘Oh, Grandpa Nick, you should have seen the blood.’

‘Blood?’

I was chilled by Katie’s revelation. Was Speranza dead too, and the monks’ chanting a Mass for her? Katie grasped my hands tightly with hers.

‘She stood in the centre of the room with her arms out-stretched, making the shape of Christ on the cross. And her hands – her palms were oozing blood.’

Katie’s eyes were wide open, as if she had witnessed some miracle.

‘You mean that she was marked with . . .?’

‘Stigmata, yes.’

No wonder the monks were singing. They had a genuine miracle taking place in their own obscure monastery, which could be very lucrative for them. Of course, you would have to put me in the
category of sceptic when it came to miracles. Like Doubting Thomas, I needed to see this for myself.

‘Come, show me.’ I could not keep the irony out of my voice. ‘Is the domina approachable by the mere mundane?’

‘Oh, yes. She has calmed down now, and even let me bind her wounds yesterday. She slept last night, but I have not checked on her this morning yet. We can go and see how she is, if you
like.’

I followed Katie to the range of buildings where the monks’ cells stood. I refrained from suggesting we should be relieved it was merely the Lord’s wounds that marked Speranza. If
she had copied the virgin saint’s affliction, she would have been flayed alive. Katie poked out her tongue in response to my scepticism. She knocked on the cell door, announcing herself to
the woman within. A muffled voice gave us permission to enter.

Speranza Soranzo was kneeling beside a simple pallet bed, which was the only furniture in the room. In fact, it was the only item in the room other than the woman herself and a wooden cross on
the wall. It was truly a bare, ascetic cell. Believe me. I scanned it carefully, expecting to see something with which the supposed stigmatist could have wounded herself. But there was nothing.

She turned to look at me, a nauseatingly beatific look on her bland face. I could see a growing crop of boils on her neck, though. The saint had not seen fit to cure her of those. Perhaps I was
being too cynical, and decided to ask if I could see her wounds. As if more than willing to display the evidence of her special status, Speranza held out her bound hands, and I noticed the bandage
on her left hand was partly unwound. I kneeled before her and took the hand in mine, unwinding the loose bandage fully. There was indeed a puncture wound the size of a finger in the centre of her
palm, and it was still oozing blood slightly. I sniffed the wound because it is said that holy wounds, like the bodies of dead saints, exude the odour of sanctity. I could smell nothing. I wrapped
the bandage back around her hand, and thanked her for her courtesy. It was a puzzle that I could not explain, and I didn’t like the fact.

Having retreated back to our bench in the courtyard, I asked Katie where Brother Hugh was.

‘I don’t know. I have not seen him this morning. You would think, wouldn’t you, that he would be fussing around his great prize? I mean, he not only has a well-connected
convert to St Beornwyn’s cause, he now can parade her as a stigmatist.’

A voice spoke up from the porch of the church.

‘Is that what you think of me? That I am doing all this for fame and fortune?’

It was the missing Brother Hugh, still worked up about his missing relic. Apparently he had been hunting in the church for it again, when the Greek monks had filed in. He had been trapped in a
side chapel, and had to endure the whole service, which was a lengthy one as Orthodox services are. He had only just been able to escape.

I grunted noncommittally, neither confirming nor excusing my opinion of him.

‘Did you find what you were looking for?’

‘No, but I have not searched the domina’s cell yet.’

With a determination that I had not seen in him before, he crossed the blisteringly hot courtyard, making for Speranza’s cell. Katie made as if to get up and follow him, but I stayed her
with my hand.

‘Leave them to it. I have no doubt that Speranza has the relic. It’s just a matter of whether she will give it back to him.’

Katie nodded, then tilted her head to one side as she watched Hugh disappear round the corner of the dormitory range.

‘Did you notice something about Hugh’s robe?’

‘No, but I’m sure you have.’ Katie’s young eyes were far better than mine, and I had to rely on my wits and longer time on this earth to stay ahead of her.

‘Yes. The hem of his robe, where it brushes the ground, has a faint white mark around it just above the edge of the robe.’

I frowned, not sure what she was suggesting. ‘Well, I would guess that Hugh has only one robe, and it’s probably been dragging in the dust.’

Katie clapped her hands together in triumph. ‘No, it’s not dust. It’s more deeply stained in the brown wool than that. It’s like when a man sweats in the heat and then
the sweat under his armpits or across his back dries, leaving a white mark. Only that wouldn’t happen to the edge of his robe. It looks to me like sea salt has dried around the bottom where
he has got his robe wet in the sea.’

I suddenly saw what she was suggesting.

‘Or on the shoreline at Chlakopo beach, where Querini’s body was found.’

I clapped my hands on my knees and rose, rather too abruptly for my creaking knees. But I was determined on action at last.

‘Katie, tell Brother Hugh and the domina to make ready. I intend to sail for Venice tomorrow, and they will both come with me.’

‘You will take her back home along with the killer of her husband?’

I lifted an admonitory finger in the air. ‘If he is the murderer, then he will face justice in Venice. If not, well . . .’

I strode across the courtyard grinning, knowing that I would have frustrated my granddaughter with my unfinished sentence. The truth was I didn’t know what the alternative was. There were
so many possible suspects for Querini’s murder, and I still needed to talk to a few of them. When I got back to the crusader mansion, I told all who were to travel back with me to pack for a
long journey.

The first man I summoned was Antonio-Antonis. I was troubled by what the tavern-keeper had said about him. He had referred to the manservant’s involvement with
Querini’s piracy, and mentioned his ‘pig-sticker dagger’. I had not given Antonis enough consideration, thinking him just a bystander to the death of his master. As I began to
pull my spare clothes out of the chest, he arrived in answer to my summons.

‘You wanted to talk to me, sir?’

I looked carefully at his belt. No dagger. Did that mean he had hidden it after sticking his master through the heart? He certainly looked wary at my examination. I had no time for finesse, even
if I had been capable of it in the first place.

‘Yes. Give me your dagger.’

I held my hand out with a lot more authority than I felt. If he decided to oppose me, he could easily kill me where I stood. Instead he wavered, and looked around as if for a way of escape.

‘My . . . dagger? Sir, I don’t wear one when I am about my duties.’

That enough was true. I could not recall having seen one at his waist, not even when I had seen him out with the dogs at the scene of Querini’s murder. But I needed to be sure he
didn’t have the sort of dagger that could have made the small but deadly wound to Querini. And if he was the killer, I could not leave him free on the island after our departure.

‘Except when your duties are standing side by side with your master robbing honest traders of their goods.’

His face went deathly pale at my accusation.

‘Who told you that?’

‘Never mind who did. I can see from your face that it is true. Where is the bassillard you used to stick in the heart of those you robbed?’

My reference to the sort of narrow, slender-bladed dagger that could have done for Querini seemed to puzzle Antonis. He fell to his knees, clutching at my fur-trimmed robe.

‘I don’t now what you mean, sir. Yes, it’s true my master persuaded me to help him once or twice. But I never killed anyone. None of us did. It was enough to wave a good heavy
sword in the air, and they usually let us take what we wanted. A little bassillard would have had no effect on them, sir.’

I believed the grovelling servant, and extricated my robe from his grasp. I told him to go, and he would hear nothing more of this. He gasped out his thanks and ran from the room. I felt
confident I could eliminate him from my list of suspects, as I had thought all along. Had I not seen there were no signs of a struggle on Querini’s body, and no cuts or bruises on his
knuckles? If Antonis had turned on him, he surely would have put up a fight, even drunk as he had been. Querini’s dogs had been another indication of his innocence. Domina Speranza had told
me how much they had loved her husband. If Antonis had already been out walking them when he encountered his master and then had slain him, the dogs would have been more agitated around Antonis.
And if he had killed Querini without the presence of the dogs, it would have taken a stout heart and great cunning to leave the scene of the murder, walk back to the mansion, collect the dogs and
‘accidentally’ discover the dead body. No, Antonis was off my list of suspects.

As I was completing my preparations for the return to Venice, Bertuccio Galuppi strode into my room.

‘What’s this I hear? We are to return to Venice all of a sudden? Does this mean you have satisfied yourself of the domina’s suitability to present herself before the Doge, her
father?’

I grinned in a way I hoped was enigmatical. ‘Indeed. I am assured of her almost virginal status, in fact.’